Chapter 3

Bill’s turn:

Reputation. A lot of this business is about reputation, at least among us engineers and managers of engineers. You know somebody who’s going to do you a good job, that’s who you get.

Get the bean-counters and the MBAs involved, though, and then you start talking about trying to get the bid low enough to get the job, and sometimes that’s at the expense of the good equipment in favor of the cheaper stuff, or cutting the cost of your contractors to where the good ones won’t even bid because they can’t pay their good people enough to keep them.

I’ve just passed up one of those jobs. I didn’t ‘no-bid’ it. I put together a realistic bid, didn’t waste a lot of time on the detail work because I can look at the drawings and ball-park a lot of things. Knew we weren’t gonna get it.

Talked to Alan.

“I know exactly who you’re talking about. The client AND the people you’re bidding against. Just be ready with a followup ‘I told you so’ package. Won’t be the first time that they sent a caravan of clowns and morons into a plant.”

“Yeah, but the engineer there, he knows...”

“His management ties him to the train track and he sees the disaster coming. Keep treating him well. We may get some ‘fix-it right’ work.”

“I can’t put ONE of my techs in there for the price he gets for three of his...”

“Yeah, I know,” Alan said. “And Ben or Carl can do anything any three of his techs can do, technically. That’s what usually happens. If they put all the parts together and it holds when they put the juice to it, they count it as a success. If not, and they can fix it or hide it, another success. But I can name three examples where they missed stuff that came up MUCH later. Major outage stuff.”

“Still rankles me.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” Alan says.

That’s business. Well, not ALL the business. We’re exceeding expectations. I’ve got two local technicians, have borrowed a couple from Alabama a time or two. There are some days when I’m in the office working on estimates and proposals, even doing a little real engineering work, running power system studies (the smaller ones) and programming for protective devices, although the latter is likely to be verification of the work done by one of my technicians when he’s upgrading existing equipment.

It’s like in the old days, you sent somebody for coffee, they came back with a cup of something wet, black, waiting for sugar. That would be the 1960s and 70s technology. Today, you have to specify ‘venti mocha latte’ with turbinado sugar, whipped cream and a cinnamon sprinkle. Or as I’ve done, “Cut the shit and gimme a damned cup of coffee,” a comment that elicits giggles from the females in my life, from Maddie, who manages my office, to Haley and Deena, who fill my life with love and wonder and wear my butt out.

Actually I don’t order Maddie to get me coffee. Maddie’s a cute, immensely capable (in fact, overqualified) administrator and a happy player on my court. The first time Maddie and coffee collided, I was looking at a client’s drawings and his written RFP (request for proposal) and the two did not seem to exist in the same universe. I guess I groaned audibly.

Maddie stuck her head in my door. “Coffee?”

“I’ll get up and get some in a minute.”

She came in, took my mug. “I’ll be back.”

“You don’t have to deliver me coffee, Maddie.”

“If you ordered me to, I’d tell Haley on you, but since you’re stressed, I am overrun with sympathy. What do you take in it?”

“Teaspoon of sugar. Splash of half and half.”

She came back with two mugs. She handed me one. “I’ve done it all my life for Dad. I did it for the guys in Alabama. Now I’ve done it for you.”

“And I deeply appreciate it, Maddie.”

Giggle. (Why is it that a girl can giggle and my day gets brighter?) “As well you should.”

Other things on my plate – two or three days a week I go to the local airport and subject myself to flying lessons. It’s a pretty standard skill in this company. I’ve seen KIDS – eleven and twelve year olds – flying. There’s this redheaded THING who is qualified all the way up to business jets. Well, there are TWO pilots in this organization that hold those qualifications, but one of ‘em’s pregnant.

All I want to do is get to where I can fly a single-engined airplane to change a visit to the home office from a nine hour drive, a nine hour commercial flight, or a four hour stroll through the skies in a private plane.

That’s where Deena is just a tiny bit jealous. Haley’s sixteen, old enough for HER student license, just like mine. Haley can get her private license when she turns seventeen. I can get mine whenever the instructor says ‘go take your flight test.’ And that’s gonna happen pretty soon.

The acquisition of an aircraft in which to exercise those capabilities may be a bit down the road. The things are expensive. The new little car I bought Haley was expensive as the cheapest suitable set of wings. At least Haley can drive. Deena’s jealous of that, too.

In a pile on the bed one evening, she sighed. “Every time I turn around, Haley’s beating me.”

“She’s sixteen...”

“Yeah, two years older,” Haley said. “Not my fault. A circumstance of my mom’s fun and games.”

“I know,” Deena sighed. “But you were getting THIS thing,” she said, tugging my depleted dick, “right after you turned fourteen. I was halfway to fifteen...”

“Yeah, but you loved him a lot longer than I did,” Haley said. “Right?”

“Yeah, but I do like this dimension, you know.”

Haley giggled. “We ALL like this dimension.”

I really did. A few months ago, it was just me and Haley, and a more perfect little mate I couldn’t imagine when we got married. There we were, finally legal to stand close together in public, to move our love out of the confines of our home and the odd weekend hotel room.

And Deena moved in.

Yeah, they acted like sisters even before the fateful round of DNA tests.

The tests weren’t that much of a shock, sadly. I dearly loved Deena from the first time I saw her, and even then I gave myself one chance in ten of being her genetic dad. Never mattered.

When she looked to me and Haley as a refuge – I had no problem.

When she and Haley conspired because ‘I love you THAT way’. Problem.

Problem was, they pushed, I folded, and now I guess I’m bound for Hell because when I’m heading home my balls draw up thinking about the TWO of them.

I occasionally still get twinges of conscience, especially when Deena keeps referring to me as ‘Dad’. I love ‘er. I FEEL like ‘Dad’ most of the time, but hearing “I love this, Dad” from a little blonde fantasy sucking your dick, sometimes ... Well, that’s why I’m going to Hell, because I’m getting used to it.

Heaven knows I look forward to getting home to them every day. I worried that there’d be jealousy between them. Wrong. Competition? Wrong.

I have two very attractive mates who love each other as much as they love me. They’re not barefoot, pregnant trash, they’re brighter than bright, and destined for great things, but they make me believe that the three of us being a family is the greatest thing.

It’s great. I never really know what those two will cook up. Last week I come home.

“We’ve made dinner,” Haley said.

“Slow cooker,” Deena added.

Demeanor of the two tells me something is up. Dinner’s great. We have a somewhat standard episode after dinner and after the kitchen’s secured, then it’s into the living room. Kisses, then schoolwork.

Finally it’s shower time. I’m in the bathroom undressing when they BOTH appear side by side.

“Well?” Deena says.

“What’d’ya think?” Haley adds.

“We did it before you got home. That’s why we weren’t all huggy,” Deena said.

“So you wouldn’t know we’d been in the shower...”

There wasn’t a pubic hair between the two of them.

“Y’all look like ten year olds...”

“How do YOU know what a ten year old looks like?” Haley squeaked.

I pointed to Deena and in falsetto, “Daddy, come wash my hair.”

Deena twisted. “Well, it feels good to get my hair washed. And then, that’s ALL it was.” She giggled. “And from looking at you, you LIKE this...”

“Yeah,” Haley said. “Now. Your turn...”

“We’ll be very careful,” Deena promised.

“Guys don’t...”

“Wrong, baby,” Haley said. “I have sisters who have partners...”

I sighed. “Okay ... but I hope you don’t have sisters who use strap-ons...”

“Ewwwww!!!” Deena squealed.

“C’mon,” Haley said.

Lots of tugging, lathering, giggling, shaving, more than a little trepidation on my part...

“This is OUR toy, Dad,” Deena said. “We’re VERY careful.”

I shouldn’t have worried so much. I stood up, saw myself as an image on an iPad camera display. Clean as a whistle.

Whistles get blown.

Hairless teen pussies get eaten. And penetrated.

Deena’s got the thing about taking pictures.

“It’s so SEXY,” she said. “Look!”

Me all the way into Haley, our bare pubes touching.

“Now get some of ME!”

And I had to endure the OTHER shaved pussy on my tool.

And three-way laughing and giggling as we sampled each other in every combination imaginable. I admit, it DID turn me on. Well, something did. I’m certain that a lot of the added arousal was due to the two of them being so excited and happy with the novelty.

At any rate – FUN! Last orgasm for me. Haley’s lying with her head on my belly, idly sucking on my depleted dick.